Monthly Archives: June 2015

Jun 17 2015
30 Comments
Writing

Silenced

Ubinox was patient.
Ubinox was smart.
Ubinox was lithe, agile and keen.

High above the Grand Hall she waited; fingers and toes gripping the light fittings as she sank silently into nothingness.

Shadows stretched across the empty room as the wise old grandfather clock, standing as it always had by the ornate double doors, beat out a steady rhythm for them to dance.

Ubinox watched.
Ubinox waited.
Ubinox didn’t flinch, not even when the chimes signalled 8pm and the doors burst open with a surge of gay abandon and a chorus of cheers.

At 8.05 the cheers were silenced.

I have my doubts whether you’ll see what I see, but perhaps after reading and looking again you’ll find Ubinox lying in wait. This piece was written for Friday Fictioneers. 100 words per story, 100 stories per week.

hyde-hall-light

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Jun 04 2015
20 Comments
Writing

Soap and water

“Let the plug out, Michael,” mum would say.

My brother would groan. He enjoyed the splashing; drenching mum as she knelt by the side of the tub, flannel in hand and a tired look upon her brow.

“Michael, I won’t ask you again,” she would say next. It would always be me. I was the older of the two so I constantly got the tap end. It wasn’t so bad though – mum couldn’t reach with me with the soap.

The third and final call would be the same every time. “Michael,” she’d snap, “don’t make me call your father.”

This piece was written for Friday Fictioneers. A group of writers aiming to fulfil the promise of writing 100 words against a weekly prompt. You can find the prompt over at Rochelle’s blog. Go on, take a look.

c-hase

Jun 01 2015
27 Comments
Writing

Sam rests his case

“What a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.”

Sam had often thought about the words his grandmother used to whisper to him, time and time again – often whilst he’d lay with his head upon her lap as she ran her frail fingers through his scraggly mop of blonde hair.

Many moons had passed since those prepubescent days. Business meetings had replaced after-school kick-abouts, glasses of wine usurped juice cartons and the train window had become his grandma’s lap. He wore his hair differently now; all heavily gelled and styled. She wouldn’t have approved.

The train tracks faltered and Sam’s head was displaced from the cold glass with a startling bump. He looked down at the pile of papers in his lap and began to build his next defence.

A piece inspired by the Monday Finish The Story Challenge. Click here to find out more!

2015-06-01-bw-beacham

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